


A Brand To His Throat

by Redburn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Or Is It?, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love, chance encounters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redburn/pseuds/Redburn
Summary: Lance hasn't been dealing with his crush on Shiro in the most healthy way, lately.But after an encounter with a stranger that turns into a one-night stand that turns into the possibility of more, Lance finds, for the first time in a really long time, that the ache in his chest feels just a little bit lighter.





	A Brand To His Throat

**Author's Note:**

> oh man, it feels good to post fic again. and to top it off, it's a 7k lance/keith's dad fic ahahahah i don't even know man
> 
> credit for the name (and the ship itself, basically), goes to [shirotabek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shirotabek), and if you haven't already go and check out their fic it's amazing and hilarious and one of the best things to happen in this fandom for a long time! :)

If there was one thing Lance could be thankful for about the Universe after leaving Earth all those years ago, it’s that almost every species they meet have their own form of alcohol.

Perhaps a little worrying, especially when he’s only slightly sure if he were to go back home, he’d only now just be over the rightful, legal drinking age. But time was irrelevant out here. Nobody tells you how fruitfully a war can age a person so quickly, and without remorse. Death and destruction was undisputable, imminent, an inescapable clause in their non-existent contracts; and if the burn of a simple drink can help to chase away the flashes of blood and pain, then Lance saw no problem with his early inherited ‘problem’.

As of this moment, they were awaiting a crew with a shipment of weapons and parts to arrive to their waiting station located at the border patrol of this bustling city. Coran had been going through the motions of it all last night after dinner, diplomatically explaining the benefits they would bring to the castleship’s defense and attack, insisting an upgrade was direly needed after ten thousand years.

Lance hadn’t taken much away from the briefing, not in a caring mood at the time, other than the clear implication that they would have to descend and make due for 3 days on the planet while a crew helped to install all of their new playthings. Lance was happy to step aside for a period and let the Alteans perform the necessary duties for the mission to run smoothly.

He’d spent the first day with the other Paladins instead, wandering aimlessly through the streets and large bodies of the species that occupied it, the weight of their bodies heavier due to the increase in gravity.

By now, the thrill of meeting new races had long since subsided; a depressing realisation if Lance lingered too long on it.

Memories of Earth would resurface if he did, and so would a pain akin to acid running down his throat.

Deciding to do what he did best, he left the castleship that night to scope out the nightlife.

Typically, and he was realizing more often than not these days, it was usually safe to assume establishments similar to those of clubs back home would play a role to the cities they visited. Learning that music and alcohol seemed to be a Universal movement, he tended to follow the signal’s in the light of the night, the strong glow of the two purple moon’s hanging behind the city skyline basking its inhabitants in a warm desire of need.

After some time passes, he’s almost due to give up and turn back to the ship when he spots a group up ahead leaving a particularly popular hangout; boasts of obnoxious laughter rang out down the street, legs tumbling as hushed promises were whispered into eager ears.  

Lance knew the signs of a drunken escape better than he wanted to.

So he sets a pace, inching closer with twitching hands desperate for a crystal glass to wrap around, for a warm mouth to find his in the dark and make him forget.

Maybe he really did have a problem.

But he’s long since stopped caring, much to the dismay of Hunk, who sends him worried looks that Lance pretends not to notice after sometimes sneaking back into the castleship the next day, clothes askew and reassuring smile completely fake. Hunk definitely sees right through the façade.

But Lance was the reigning king of self-pity and self-loathing, happy to keep playing the role of the dunce, the guy that’s picked last for everything and hangs around at your feet for the proverbial scraps. 

Without permission, a memory from the past week presents itself like a slap to the face; returning to the castleship after a long night out of blissful oblivion…

_“Lance, where have you been?”_

_That familiar shiver makes its appearance down his back, coiling around his stomach like a vice, heart crying and libido twitching. He throws Shiro his trademark wink and finger-gun combo, all too greedy for the focus he receives like a moth to a flame._

_“I think the question is: where_ haven’t _I been?”_

_Nobody misses the exasperated twitch of Shiro’s eye or the way his mouth pulls down in disappointment. And isn’t that how this always goes? Shiro, the voice of reason as he stands tall and out of reach. Lance, feeling grateful to even be near him, like finding an oasis after days spent wandering the scorching trials of the desert._

_Whoever said being young and in love was pleasure abound failed to account for being young and in love and_ alone _. And to top it off, also not knowing when to quit running his dumb-ass mouth._

_No; it was awful and unwanted and if the closest Lance will ever get to happiness was the body of another for one short night, then he’s accepted that fact as clear as the need to breathe._

_So that night, he retreats to his room instead of participating in a group bonding session and soon chases away any and all thoughts of his heroic leader running deft hands up his sides, his large frame enveloping him and keeping him safe, his thin lips like a brand on his throat._

_Reaching for what he can’t have has always been a character flaw of his._

With newfound bitterness taking control of his senses, he chases away the memory through clenched teeth and storms off ahead at a brutal pace to stalk through the glass double doors and into the hazy atmosphere of the bar he’s forever thankful is here.

A majority of its occupants were locals of the city; their shoulders wide and long arms littered in what closely resembled to barbs. Their eyes were void of pupils, rendering their singled-coloured gazes unhelpful in terms of assessing their interest. Some had wings, while some could command their bodies to shrink down, disappearing into the crawl space and beyond the walls that were currently closing in on Lance like a trap on its pray.

He swallows dryly and heads for the stool-less bar, gesturing his hand to draw the attention of the worker absentmindedly cleaning a knife behind it. Lance fiddles with the Universal translator implanted in his ear while the bartender makes his way over slowly.

“What?” the alien asks gruffly, the translation only slightly delayed.

“Give me the strongest drink you have,” he says, fishing out the small crystal plates Allura gave them all to use as currency. A goblet of black liquid lands in front of him moments later, and Lance hands over the correct amount of change when the alien lists off the price.

The smell of it is less aromatic than he’d predicted, and thicker. Deeming it drinkable he takes the first sip and startles when small bursts reach his tongue, like popping candy.

And it _is_ strong, so a winner all round.

He doesn’t attempt to search out a potential partner straight away, needing that numbing calm to seep through his body first. It was like an experiment; new drugs, new test subjects. Sometimes the results were less than satisfactory, other times it left him craving more. He feels himself getting more and more lost as the days bleed together, dissociating from the life he used to live, only seeing it in dreams fabricated by a longing he’ll slowly forget.

He hadn’t signed up for this.

If he could go back in time to stop himself from ever setting foot inside that cave, would he?

Right and wrong, good and bad, black and white. 

His world was palettes of grey he couldn’t bring himself to choose from.

As if his inner turmoil had been unintentionally broadcast for the world to see, the presence of another sidled up next to him at the bar, much too close to interpret it as anything other than interest.

Lance preened under the attention, figuring the tight clothes he threw on before leaving the castleship never hurt anyone when it came to putting on a show, like a choreographed routine. The tight black pants were like a second skin, showing off every muscle and curve he’s worked hard to preserve under the high demand of a war, while the amber turtleneck screamed to be pulled down at the collar to reach the tantalizing skin underneath.

So he stands and waits, keeping his gaze trained forward as the newcomer musters up the courage to make the first move. It’s not long before a deep rumble angles around to say:

“Evenin’, gorgeous. What’s your damage there?”

Lance holds back a sarcastic laugh; a mixture of not wanting to embarrass himself and not wanting to have their first conversation start off with him listing off every point of damage that’s going on in his life right now.

It’s only after another thought that he realizes the guy had been asking about his drink preferences. So he curls his lips up into their trademark smile and turns to face his admirer front on.

And nearly falls over in the process.

Because one of the last things he was expecting to find in this bar was another human. Not to mention, he was arguably one of the most appealing men Lance thinks he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in the flesh. Now, Lance wouldn’t say he’s ever possessed a daddy kink in his young short life, but for this man, his persona exuded nothing _but_.

Lance was greeted with warm brown eyes and second day stubble framing his jaw. The top two buttons of his shirt were left open, exposing a trail of chest hair that Lance had the sudden urge to run his hands through. Arms as thick as they come, begging to rip through the weak materials sleeves; and now that Lance recalled the man’s question, had he heard a southern accent laced through it?

“Y’all right there?”

Reverting back into practiced poise, Lance nods once in reassurance, bringing the goblet to his lips to buy some time. The man’s gaze seems to follow his movement, eyes dancing with amusement.

Good – amusement was better than regret.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Lance finally answers his first question, carefully setting the drink down. “I’m not usually familiar with foreign beverages.”

The man hums thoughtfully. “That could get ya mixed up in a whole world ‘a trouble, sweetheart.”

Lance bites down on his lip, relishing in the shiver that wracks his entire body with intent. This was the thrill he sought after; meeting someone new and exciting and then sharing a night together to tuck away into the crevices of his mind; something good and safe and only his.

“If it helps me to meet someone like you, then I don’t mind,” Lance purrs, draping his body leisurely against the bar.

“Hmm,” the man slips subtly closer, and Lance feels his breath catch when he takes in the sheer size and body of this man up close. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

As these things go, he usually gives out fake names for Voltron’s sake. But then… “Lance.”

“Lance, huh,” the man looks him up and down, and Lance thinks time surely stands still in that moment. “Almost as pretty as you.”

A common line, but Lance greets it hungrily. “And how about you?” he asks, before adding, “I don’t usually meet too many humans out here.” _Any_ , in fact.

When the man supplies, “Ken,” Lance is infinitely thankful that ‘K’ hadn’t ended with ‘eith’. Total mood killer if he does say so. “An’ suppose I don’t either. Never expected I’d be so lucky to find someone like you in a place like this.”

“Happy to be of service,” Lance says around a cheeky grin, and means it.

Ken laughs, his chest seemingly vibrating under the action. Lance pats himself on the back, soaking up the sight of Ken unabashedly like a sponge to water and instantly chases away memories of past attempts at getting a certain team member to ever react to him like that. It was the attention he craved, _needed_ , and right now this beautiful specimen of a man was giving it to him, free of charge, and here Lance was clinging pathetically to the memory of another who would never give him the time of day.

“Really though,” Ken continues, his eyes shimmering with an emotion akin to wonder. “I can’t recall the last time I was in the company of my own race. It’s… it’s been a while, that’s for darn sure.”

Lance can understand that, to an extent. Even with his fellow Paladin’s journeying along with him, some nights on the castleship still managed to feel so unbearably empty; so easy to imagine that they were the last of their kind, much like the Alteans; just floating through space like they were on death row until one day it could all be gone by one wrong move. The possibility terrified him.

“When did you leave Earth?”

Ken looks up, licking his lips absentmindedly and now Lance is the one to track the action. Lance secretly admires the rough looking scar running through the man’s right eyebrow as Ken answers his question.

“’Bout… eight years,” he hums, a fragility to it. “At least, I think. Time gets away from ya out here.”

Lance can feel another wave of heat settle pleasantly in his stomach, the black liquid proving it’s strength, and with another bout of confidence he closes the remaining distance between them, running his index finger aimlessly along Ken’s arm, tracing the stitching along the fabric. Ken exhales, low and deep, and Lance playfully keeps up his light touches as he glances through heavy lids to meet Ken’s eyes.

A soft hue of orange provided the bar with its only light, leaving behind an atmosphere of intimacy that Lance was a master of playing to his strengths. The colour paints gorgeously against the man’s frame; a calming touch to his otherwise towering demeanor. Flecks of grey dance amongst his shaggy hair all the way down to his scruff.

Lance suddenly doesn’t want to forget a single moment of this.

He allows his hand to spread out flat, thumb rubbing in soft back and forth motions comfortingly. Jutting his chin out slightly and parting his lips, Lance uses the craft of his body to his advantage.

“Did you have anyone special back home?” he murmurs.

A distant look grows in Ken’s expression. “Not particularly. I was a lousy father, though.”

Lance feels his hand pause briefly from the confession.

Something about this man made Lance feel comfortable, at home. It was a startling thought, but he wasn’t about to let it get away.

“I have family back there, too,” Lance sighs lowly, inching closer, wanting to feel something warm and solid and familiar. To experience that normality again. “I… I miss them.”

A pregnant pause. “Why’d you leave ‘em?”

Lance takes in a shuddering breath, eyes suddenly hot and irritable. Ken must notice, though, because a hand reaches up to cup his face softly, the calloused palm stark against the soft bounce to his cheek. Lance plasters on a smile.

“Sorry,” Ken whispers, brows furrowing. “I’ve almost forgotten how to do this. It ain’t every day I get the chance to meet someone.”

Lance releases a wet laugh, resting his head more into the careful touch. “It’s okay. I’m kind of embarrassed now, actually. I don’t normally cry in front of people.”

“I see,” Ken smiles kindly, a reassuring gesture that Lance chooses to cling to like the first sign of warmth in a roaring blizzard. “I hate to see a face this pretty look so sad, though.”

Immediately Lance could feel his face heat up, instantly self-conscious about Ken noticing this with his hand still firmly planted on his cheek. He’ll blame it on the drink as a defect.

“Well then,” Lance begins, more than ready to move past the strange development this conversation has drifted into. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to go find a place to sit down. Care to join me?” he jerks his head to gesture off behind Ken’s shoulders.

The other man turns to follow his train of sight; beyond the eerily calm crowd of patrons and following a trail of twin lights hanging from the ceiling lead up to what looks to be booths designed to allow for some personal space void of intrusive gazes. Several were already filled up with either couples or the more rich affording a private show, each room secluded with shimmering drapes that only enticed mystery and longing.

The hand that was resting at his cheek soon falls down to curl into Lance’s hip, strong and powerful and making his head spin. Ken leans down so his lips can find the shell of Lance’s ear, hot breath full of promises Lance would make sure he intends to keep.

“I would like nothing more,” he answers. Lance suppresses a shiver and calls out to the bartender for several more drinks, and to make it quick.

*

_“Lance, you were lagging again today. Is everything alright?”_

_There are a number of things Lance wishes he could reply with. But what it all boiled down to at this moment was that no, he wasn’t okay. And he was used to it, these days._

_“I’m fine, Shiro. Peachy, in fact,” he says, shoving his hands in his pant pockets and throwing Shiro a wolfish grin._

_Shiro releases a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Lance, I know it’s difficult, but you know Voltron will be affected if we can’t all be honest with each other.”_

_By now it was like a practiced speech. It was all he ever heard anymore. Since first stepping inside Blue’s cockpit, to meeting the Alteans, to sliding that Paladin armor onto his body like a new toy – it was as if his previous life hadn’t existed at all._

_But admitting this to his leader, his hero, the man who unknowingly held every single ounce of Lance’s affections in the palm of his hand like a delicate shell…_

_No, he needed to be stronger, right?_

_So he closes the remaining space between them to pat Shiro’s shoulder lightly, willing himself not to linger. “I know man. And I’m telling you, I’m fine, just tired I guess.”_

_“Hey –” both men turn to see Keith stop at the entrance of the hall. Subconsciously Lance steps away, as if Keith’s sudden presence was like a wall being built between himself and Shiro. He tries not to scowl. “Shiro, Allura’s located the information for the Blade. We need you.”_

_“Yeah, okay,” Shiro nods, already taking a step back. Lance swallows around a lump, because isn’t that always the way? Shiro meets his gaze once more. “Lance…”_

_Lance shrugs his shoulders, gesturing flippantly with his hand. “All good, dude. If you need me, you know where to find me.”_

_His smile falls the minute he turns around, completely missing the concerned frown that meets his back as he goes._

“Lance?”

He blinks quickly to focus on Ken again. “Sorry,” he laughs quietly, “Sometimes I can’t help but let all of this… get to me.”

The seats of the booths are covered in a material closely resembling velvet. There’s a scent in the air different to that of the bar; this one was musky, thick, and working quickly in relaxing every bone in his body. Ken has his arm currently draped across the top of the booth, his other hand cradling his drink. Lance made sure to sit close when they sat down, body angled towards the other man, their knees brushing together.

Ken frowns down at him, expression sorrowful.

“I’m still wondering how it is you got yourself out here,” he says gruffly, the alcohol clearly affecting his accent to thicken.

“Destiny, I think,” Lance humours him as he thinks of Blue, figuring spewing information about Voltron and the Galra to a stranger wouldn’t be the best choice under these circumstances.

He was caught in a tug-of-war, wanting nothing more than to talk to someone new about everything that’s happened since leaving Earth, and not wanting to let all of this responsibility get to him, if only for one blissful night. There were plenty more things Lance would rather be doing with Ken, anyway.

“My, you’re just about the most mysterious being I’ve ever met,” Ken muses, “Considerin’ where we are right now, that’s sure sayin’ somethin’.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lance clicks his tongue, turning his head to rest on Ken’s forearm. Their faces couldn’t have been more than a foot away. “One of us needs to be, to keep it interesting.”

An amused laugh makes its way out of Ken’s mouth, and Lance basks in it. His gaze falls on Lance again, leaning in closer to whisper: “Thought things were pretty interesting already.”

“Oh…” Lance breathes, unable to stop himself from letting his attention drift down to Ken’s lips. They were thin, but a tantalizing pink. Immediately, fantasies involving those lips flick through his mind like a scene unfurling. A pleasant thrum settles low in his gut.

Ken’s lips stretch out into another smile, revealing pearly white canines that Lance aches to run his tongue over.

It was as if every beat of his heart was suddenly loud enough for the entire bar to hear; his skin tingles upon every surface where their bodies were touching. It was unbearably addicting.

He jerks his gaze away to catch his breath, instead choosing to play with the pockets on Ken’s jeans, slipping his fingers through the belt loops and along the waistline lightly, as if testing the waters. When Ken says nothing, only shifting under the touch, Lance let his fingers drift up under the man’s shirt. At the first brush of warm skin, Lance hums appreciatively, rubbing absentminded circles with confidence.

He feels Ken react, a minor twitch of clear arousal, and soon a hand has found its way into the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck, teasing him with soft strokes. Lance eagerly falls back into it and meets Ken’s gaze again, eyelids fluttering.

“Mmm…” he exhales, body shuddering momentarily when those fingers disappear under his turtleneck. Ken raises a brow cheekily.

“You cold?” he murmurs, but the warm temperature of the room renders the question pointless. Lance knows this, and Ken knows this.

“A little bit,” Lance lies, playing along with however this exchange was leading up to.

Ken pats his leg that’s closest to Lance, an invitation that Lance is in no way declining. He uses Ken’s shoulder as leverage for hoisting himself up and over, and the arm Ken had draped over the booth comes down to wrap around Lance’s waist, pulling him in closer.   

The body heat of the other man is intoxicating. Lance buries his face into Ken’s neck, the stubble surprisingly softer than he expected. He smells of aftershave, and something almost like motor oil. It’s comforting, in a familiar way that Lance is used to when he helps out Hunk with repairs and soon Lance finds himself relaxing. Ken’s other hand abandons his drink in favour of resting it on Lance’s thigh.

“Why don’t you tell me about why you left Earth,” Lance whispers, and realizes he can finally run his fingers through Ken’s chest hair. So he does.

“How come you get to remain a mystery,” Ken huffs fondly. “You little scamp.”

The term of endearment blooms a ball of warmth in Lance’s chest. He laughs cheekily, angling his head back so he can look Ken in the eye.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Lance promises sweetly, and Ken’s eyes fill with zealous desire. “So, tell me about it,” he urges again gently.

“Alright,” Ken admits defeat, glancing down in contemplation at where to start. “To put it simply, I just wanted answers.”

“Answers to what?” he prods, fingers drifting aimlessly.

Ken gestures vaguely around them. “Everythin’. I ain’t never thought anything like this existed, and the day I found out it did, I had to learn more.”

“Yeah,” Lance frowns, remembering the feeling all too well. Only these days… “I imagine going home now… it’ll be hard to live a normal life again.”

“Normal’s overrated,” Ken offers dryly, returning his hand to Lance’s thigh, only higher this time. Lance tries his best not to squirm when the hand dips around to find his back dimples.

But then he thinks back to the beginning of their conversation. “You… said you were… _are_ , a father,” his tone unintentionally poses It like a question, unsure if that vital piece of information was supposed to remain on the backburner during this intimate affair. Lance is never quite sure if he’s taken something too far.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a father,” Ken says, his grip tightening. “Fathers’re usually there for their kids. I left ‘im back there. Couldn’t bring myself to put his life in danger by taking ‘im with me.”

Lance feels himself exhale shakily. He hadn’t expected this night to turn out as emotional invested as it has. But there was always something so… _easy_ , about spilling your darkest secrets to someone who didn’t know you well enough to judge you. One night of no boundaries, no commitment – nothing except sharing yourself as much as you were getting back. An equilibrium.

“I don’t want ya thinking less of me,” Ken jostles Lance lightly, hands still rubbing in soothing motions.

“I don’t,” Lance reassures him, proving it further with a soft kiss to the hollow of Ken’s throat. He felt the vibrations as Ken makes a pleased noise in turn.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” Ken rumbles, his hand finally making the last move to cup firmly around an ass-cheek. Lance couldn’t deny his rapidly growing interest even if he tried. “I wouldn’t go ‘round forgivin’ me just yet. I hardly deserve it.”

Lance thinks over his next move, eventually deciding _fuck it_. He moves his body up further, slotting a leg on either side of Ken, sliding his arms up and around Ken’s wide shoulders and bringing his lips close to the man’s ear. He makes a show of breathing into it hotly, and now both of Ken’s hands are planted firmly on his ass, almost kneading it. Lance can’t help but buck forwards, getting some much needed friction, and the quick switch from innocent discussions about Earth to needy lust sparks a fire that he so achingly craves.

He smirks into Ken’s temple. “Why don’t you let me decide tonight what you do and don’t deserve.”

Ken laughs heartily, and without any warning, he goes to stand and hoists Lance up as he goes, like he weighs nothing more than a god damn feather. Lance loses his breath, instinctively wrapping his legs around Ken’s waist and releasing a startled, “ _Oh_ ,” eyes blown wide with pure longing.

“Your place, or mine?” Ken asks lowly.

Lance’s gaze fell upon those lips again. “Yours.”

*

When they stumble into Ken’s room it’s almost blindly, with Ken still balancing Lance in his arms as he attempts to close the door behind them. Lance whines into Ken’s neck, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist tighter, and can’t see past the complete and utter arousal that’s coursing through his body at an alarming rate.

Ken is huffing when they’re finally alone, closed off from the rest of the Universe. It’s only them, and this room, and their eager bodies.

They pause for one single moment of reassurance; one last breath of air before the riptide pulls them under.

And then Ken is moving them both until Lance feels his back meet the wall, and finally, Ken’s hot mouth finds his in the dimly lit room. 

Lance doesn’t disguise his moan, bringing up both hands to scrape his fingernails through Ken’s hair – any attempt to meld him closer. Ken’s lips _devour_ him, slotting against his own perfectly with every desperate slide, and it’s stealing Lance’s breath away and setting his skin aflame.

Ken ruts into him, and quickly Lance’s attention is torn between wanting to never stop kissing and to get a good look at what’s hiding out down south. Even while wearing jeans Lance can feel how big Ken is; and Lance knows full well his own tight pants aren’t going to be hiding anything.

“ _Ken_ ,” Lance whimpers into his mouth.

Without interrupting their make-out session, Ken manages to shift all of Lance’s weight onto one arm, and his now free other hand wastes no time in exploring every surface of Lance’s body. Lance shivers involuntarily, and when Ken’s hand brushes over his hardening cock with intent, Lance has to break away for air.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he pants, holding on to Ken’s biceps for purchase as his head falls back onto the wall.

“Your friend looks pleased to see me,” Ken chuckles, and Lance almost wants to smack him. But he doesn’t, instead reverting back to stealing the air from Ken’s lungs.

This time it’s Ken who groans loudly, and Lance takes advantage of the man’s open mouth to push his tongue inside. Ken meets him in the middle, and it’s so hot and wet and dirty that Lance feels almost a little in over his head.

But he needs this, more than ever.

If he’s good enough to be chosen to help defend the god damn Universe, then he could absolutely prove that he can handle anything this man throws at him.

So with one final push of hungry lips, he separates them with a quiet ‘pop’, slowly lowering himself down from his place on the wall to stare up at Ken slyly. He keeps eye contact as he fiddles with Ken’s belt, eventually snapping it from its loops and throwing it carelessly to the floor. Ken quirks a brow, but his flush remains.

“Easy, darling. That’s my favourite belt there.”

“Really?” Lance acts coy, unbuttoning Ken’s shirt leisurely. When he removes the final button he spreads the material apart to reveal taut muscles, Ken’s dark chest hair tapering off into a thin line as it disappears beneath his pants. Lance stares wantonly. “Have I been bad?” he steps closer to kiss Ken’s jaw. “Are you going to punish me?”

Ken’s chest rises sharply and hands reach out to cup Lance’s face again. He kisses Lance much slower this time. “I think I just migh’ have to.”

“ _Please_ ,” is all Lance can think to say past the cloudiness of his mind.

Ken works quickly in removing the remaining items of clothing he wore, only pausing briefly when his fingers dance along the hem of his boxer-briefs. Lance makes to show his encouragement, and with one final swoop Ken discards his underwear off to the side, and Lance's hands currently pulling up his turtleneck understandably pause.

Ken is gorgeous, sculpted almost with all of the right angles. He’s certainly kept in shape out here in space. Lance can only hope to still look that good by his age.

A prickle of nerves hits him again, and he hopes Ken doesn’t notice by the time he’s finished undressing. Only somehow, the man keeps proving Lance wrong by noticing anyway and stepping over lightly, a soft expression present on his face. Lance drops his tights to the floor just as Ken rubs his arm soothingly.

“Darling, if this is too fast, we can slow down, or stop,” Ken offers, and Lance almost wants to cry again.

But he holds it back, and takes a deep breath.

_Shiro._

_Countless times he’s been held or carried by Shiro._

_He’s felt that strong body under his touch and wished nothing more than to keep touching him forever._

_Oh how many times has he wondered what it would feel like to be with him; to kiss and mark and give himself over willingly._

_Would that ever happen for him…_

Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t.

Perhaps it had always been a romance destined to fail.

And maybe… it was about time to accept that as fact; to just see Shiro as his teammate again, to act normally around him, to just be his friend again and not some lovesick puppy waiting for his idol to finally notice him the way he wants him to.

It wouldn’t disappear overnight, and probably not for a long time.

But Ken was looking more and more like a chance at home as the seconds tick past. He was the escape Lance had needed, and maybe, just maybe, he could be something else.

Too early to think on it further, Lance pushes the remaining doubts from his mind and pulls down his own underwear, and gives Ken a smile.

“You ready to give me a wild ride?” Lance teases, wrapping his arms around Ken’s neck and shivering when their hard cocks brush against each other.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Ken breathes out before almost throwing Lance onto the bed, crawling over him slowly and using his large frame to his advantage.

“Oh my god,” Lance can’t help but squeak, and Ken throws him one last dirty grin before angling down to suck Lance’s dick into his mouth. Lance twitches instantly, breath stuttering, legs resisting to clench around Ken’s bobbing head.

Ken hums around Lance’s girth, pleased, and makes quick work on stroking his own cock, smearing the pre-cum messily. Lance whines, from both the sensations of Ken’s mouth on him and to wanting to be the person to touch Ken like that. He settles for grabbing fistfuls of Ken’s hair and guiding him up and down, and chokes mildly when Ken’s free hand circles around his asshole lightly. Lance almost worries he’ll go in dry, but then Ken’s pulling back and motioning to his bedside table.

“There’s some stuff in there.”

Lance fumbles around for it, eventually pulling out a small bottle and passing it to Ken. He slicks two fingers up with finesse, and wastes no time in sliding them inside Lance.

Lance bites down on his lip, eyes squeezed shut.

God, it was good. Almost _too_ good.

Ken knew exactly what he was doing and how much Lance could take. Impressive.

Lance feels his stomach line with an intense heat, could feel his toes curl with every push of those fingers inside him. Ken moves between a fast and slow pace, driving Lance up the wall with need. So close and then not enough. Lance throws his arms over his eyes, breaths ragged, hips bucking up to meet the other man’s touch.

“Don’t be hiding that beautiful face,” Ken coaxes his arms away gently, beaming down at him adoringly. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear that wonderful voice.”

“ _Ah_ –” Lance dips his head back when Ken finds his prostate, exposing his neck. Ken licks a long stripe up it until he rests at Lance’s ear. "F-fuck, _hnng_ , oh-"

“What do you want?”

“Y-you…” he swallows dryly. “C'mon, Ken. Need you in me, oh god, _oh fuck_.”

He hears Ken utter a few curse words under his breath, and they fumble for a bit, each of them trying to see past the lusty haze settling around them minutely. Lance knows he won’t last long, and from the sounds of it, neither will Ken. Soon, Lance finds himself flipped over onto his stomach, his face falling into a pillow and Ken’s weight pressing up against him from behind.

His fingers grasp the sheets when Ken begins to push inside, the head of his cock struggling at first. Lance releases a strung out moan when Ken breaches him, sinking into him bit by bit until their bodies are flush.

“You doing alrigh’ there, gorgeous?” Ken murmurs, his hands stroking his hips as they wait for Lance to adjust.

“Mhmm,” Lance nods, shifting slightly to feel out the size of Ken. They groan, and he hears Ken pant frantically.

“I won’t last much longer,” he warns.

“Fuck me,” Lance instructs, and so Ken does.

Oh boy does he.

The sheer brute strength of this man is like a punch to the gut. His hands are like talons digging into his sides, so strong Lance felt like he was being lifted up further to accommodate each thrust. Ken fills him up in a way he hasn’t felt in so long; deep and long and like Lance was the one who deserved to cum first. His heart spiked while his muscles clenched and melted simultaneously.

Ken changed the angle and hit his prostate dead on, again and again.

Lance choked on nothing, unable to form words as he body begged for release.

“Are you close, sweetheart?”

With every ounce of strength he has left, Lance flips them until Ken is lying flat on his back and staring up at him with wide-blown eyes. Lance positions himself quickly onto Ken’s cock again and picks up where they left off, throwing Ken a smirk.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy, right?”

Ken stares up at him like Lance was his saving grace, and Lance eats it up hungrily, the hole in his chest feeling just that tiny bit smaller somehow.

When his movements become a bit frenzied and out of rhythm, Ken offers out his hands to steady him. Lance twines their fingers and allows Ken to take reign. He could feel his release growing, spreading through him like wild fire and causing him to cry out desperately.

Ken’s thrusts turn brutal as he wraps a hand around Lance’s untouched cock and strokes.

“Cum for me sweetheart,” he whispers, “Lance, cum for me.”

And it’s from hearing his name spill from Ken’s lips that finally send him over the edge. It catches him off guard, torn out of him with trembling force.

Ken follows shortly after a few more quick thrusts, and the feeling of being filled up renders Lance a whimpering mess. Body unable to hold him up, he slumps forward and buries his face into Ken’s neck, and nothing but the sound of their erratic breathing fills the silence of the room.

Then Ken wraps his arms around Lance gently, his lips kissing at Lance’s slightly sweaty hair atop his forehead.

“I’m sure gonna miss you, sweetheart,” he rumbles, and Lance’s chest suddenly aches again.

After groggy attempts at cleaning each other up, he falls asleep to the sound of Ken’s heartbeat and wishes, for one selfish moment, that this could all be his to keep.

*

Lance wakes up to the missed sound of pelting rain, heart beating excitedly until his hazy morning brain deduces it’s merely the shower running. Ken left the door open, allowing Lance to peer inside from the bed. Lance smiles briefly, so easy to imagine this as a slice-of-life routine he might never get to return to back home.

So he lays there, basking in the minor ache in his ass and relaxing further into the comforter. The shower stops running and Ken flash-dries himself with the flick of a switch. He throws on some clean underwear before returning to the bed, smiling down at Lance.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss Lance languidly, without agenda. Lance melts into it, not even sorry about his possible morning breath. “Shower’s yours if you want it.”

Lance wiggles around on the bed and can’t ignore the still sticky mess that is his ass. A little shower can’t hurt. Ken finishes dressing and makes up some cups of space-coffee for them both. Minutes later and now perfectly clean and dry, Lance stops short at the door, hand caught on the frame. He watches Ken with a content smile, admires the ripples in his back as he sets about making breakfast for them both. Lance’s gaze falls to the ground sadly, desperate for this not to end.

They chat idly until Ken says it’s time for him to head back off to his job.

“We got a big order to fill. My crew and I are installing new parts for this massive ship that’s just landed in the 4V quadrant,” he tells Lance, and Lance frowns, his mug pausing at his lips.

“You… that’s what you do out here?” he asks carefully.

Ken nods. “Nothin’ glamorous, but my crew were accepting enough to let me join ‘em, so I’m happy to help out any way I can. You need a ride back somewhere?”

Lance falls back in his chair, hardly believing the odds. “That’s my team. Your crew is upgrading my team’s ship.”

Ken’s eyebrows rise to his airline. “Well how ‘bout that.”

“Have you… met any of my team?” Lance asks, not knowing what answer he wants to hear in return.

“Nah, job’s so big I never really have time for meet ‘n greets,” Ken laughs. “Well, now that we’re both headin’ out that way, perhaps… I could meet ‘em.”

There’s a slight hesitancy there, and Lance realizes Ken is gauging him for his opinion. It’s an option he’d already thought too impossible to happen, a chance he never thought he’d find out here in the vastness of space. Ken was… asking if he could formally meet Lance’s crew, and for what? Out of politeness? To get a better insight on Voltron?

No, Lance thought on the latter, Ken wasn’t like that.

Too scared to wonder exactly what this could mean for them, Lance answers with an honest, “Sure,” enjoying the way Ken’s features grow soft around the edges the more he keeps looking at Lance. Lance tries to hide his blush behind his mug, but it spreads further when Ken brushes his foot alongside Lance’s under the table.

For the first time in a long while, Lance’s heart feels full.

It’s still clear for them both they have no idea where this relationship could go from here, but Lance thinks confidently, and without second guessing, that he’d like to find out.

For once, he would let himself have this; to stop feeling sorry for himself and just go for what he wants.

And from the way Ken keeps smiling at him, Lance thinks the other man might be on the same page.

_Space wasn’t kind to anyone._

_It could take life and give life in a matter of seconds._

_But if you learn to appreciate the endless beauty of it all and to understand the importance of one’s life, then that made it all worthwhile._  

After a beat, Lance smiles back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh man *hides back into my cave*
> 
> I pretty much wrote this purely to have a fic for this pairing that could give you some hope for the future, but I thought it best to leave an open ending, so you guys can totally imagine what you want about how it all goes down when they all introduce themselves lmao
> 
> anyway, your comments mean the world to me, I always cry whenever I see your kind words ;A; thanks so much for reading! xx
> 
>  [/tumblr](http://edsbrak.tumblr.com)


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